


The One Thing I Love Most

by Fangirlingmanaged



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Superfamily, Superhusbands, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, alternate universe-the purge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7133918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlingmanaged/pseuds/Fangirlingmanaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers figures he has 12 hours lelft to live, tops. Perhaps even less than that. As he's left stranded in the middle of a rich neighborhood less than an hour before the yearly Purge, and unlikely savior comes to his rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angel With a Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited for this AU.

Steve Rogers is pretty sure he’s going to die in the next twelve hours.

The realization brings him a sense of fear and a heady rush of adrenaline. He’d been cruising through the rich part of his neighborhood on his way home for work after being kept far longer than he had anticipated. Part of him thinks that Schmidt had kept him back on purpose, but he hopes even his asshole of a coworker didn’t  hate him enough to try to risk his life right before the beginning of the Purge. As his bike begins to sputter on the street in front of the biggest, well, mansion in the neighborhood he starts to wonder if maybe that _had_ been the intention all along.

His fingers shake as he gets off his bike and takes off his helmet. His gas gauge says that he should have had enough to get to his, reinforced, apartment, and it makes his stomach drop. Lack of gas he could deal with, the street is deserted and there are a few cars left outside from which he could have syphoned gas from, but whatever else is wrong with his bike he probably won’t be able to fix without tools. He glances at the horizon and notices the pink hues beginning to leak into the sky. He’s going to run out of time; he’s a fast runner, sure, but he won’t be able to make it in time.

With a shudder, he pats the inside pockets of his brown leather jacket to look for any sort of weapon he might have. Since the purges began, four years ago, he had made it a habit of carrying at least one weapon on his person and on his bike at all times. Things were bad enough as they were, and it never hurt to be cautious. He only has the flimsy single blade, though, and his pistol had been left (stupidly) in his safe at work. He kicks at his bike one last time, and glances up and down the street. He’s wasting time, he knows, time he should perhaps be using trying to shelter himself in one of these houses but… he glances at them apprehensively. He’s seen the videos before, people with money tend to be even wilder than everyone else on the nights of the purges. This close to it? He can’t trust them.

Steve reaches into his back pocket where his phone is to call Bucky, says his goodbyes maybe, when it starts vibrating in his hand. He looks down at it, and sees that it’s an unknown number. Hoping none of his friends are stranded in his same situation, he answers with a slightly tremulous, “Hello?”

“You know the freak show doesn’t start for another two hours at least,” the voice on the other end says. Steve’s eyes widen significantly because he recognizes that voice, _of course he does._ It’s not every day that he gets a call from _the_ Tony Stark.

Steve had met the man less than one month ago when his advertisement firm had put him in charge of the Stark contract. He’d been surprised since his coworker and friend Natalia Romanova had been in charge of that particular account the last time he’d heard. His boss, Director Nick Fury, had informed him that Tasha had resigned due to extenuating circumstances. Steve didn’t know why since it was well known in the firm that that particular account was the most ludicrous in the whole firm. Steve, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, had agreed to take over their latest project despite Coulson’s, Fury’s aid, emphatic headshake.

He’d been positive going in; had even enjoyed working with Stark Industries CEO Pepper Potts and head of advertisement Clint Barton. They’d been ready to present their semi-finished campaign in record time, for Steve at least, with Pepper and Clint’s cooperation. Then he’d met Tony Stark. The man was, for lack of a better word, an insensitive dick. He’d strode in late, barely paid attention to their sales pitch, and then declared it the worst idea ever. He’d understood why Tasha had dropped the account immediately, and had been about to do the same when he’d caught Clint’s puppy dog eyes and Peppers stern-yet-pleading look. He’d found himself walking into the lobby of SI the next day per, apparently, Stark’s instruction.

The man had dropped by to check on their work every day since, which had surprised Steve since he’d shown no clear sign of caring about their work before then. They’d been talking about finding a way to convince people of SI’s energy projects, which Steve heard was revolutionizing, when the man had shuffled in wearing nothing but a ratty tank-top and sweatpants. His eyes were ~~adorably~~ sleepy, and his hair was a disarrayed floof. Clint had snorted and shaken his head.

“Ah, the creature awakes,” Clint had said with a chuckled.

Steve had waited for a scathing retort from his boss, but all the short brunette had done was grumble incoherently before making a bee-line for Steve. To say the blond was surprised was an understatement, but he didn’t move from his spot. Turned out, Tony hadn’t wanted anything to do with him. He’d made grabby hands at his mug until Steve relented it, took a noisy slurp of the coffee in it, grimace, then swallowed some more.

“Too much contamination,” he mumbled tiredly. Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

“He means sugar and milk,” Clint informed him wisely. When Steve looked at him, the other man rolled his eyes, but there was a fond smile gracing his features. “He doesn’t like drinking it like a _regular human being_.”

“Huh,” was all Steve said. It was the most cordial he’d ever seen Stark, and he couldn’t resist basking in it a little. He had started off disliking the man intensely, but that one week working inside SI had brought a sense of fond exasperation. The man was a motor mouth and liked to insult people just for the hell of it, but he was brilliant and passionate and curious and adorable and… okay, Steve may have been falling for him for the last three weeks. Nobody needed to know that, though. He’d kept his cool bravado around the man after figuring out his feelings, and now they were in some vague frenemies area.

Now, though, he wonders whether or not he should have just told Tony how he felt. He feels as though he’s wasted too much time being afraid of rejection. As the sun sinks lower in the sky by the second, he feels regret accompany his fear.

“—Eve? Steve, I know you’re still there. Answer me, soldier,” Tony’s voice barks over the line. It snaps Steve out of his reverie.

“Crap, sorry, yes. What was the question?” Steve rubs his forehead. He feels disoriented. Alone, and exposed, and with his time rapidly running out.

“I said, you can’t stand in front of my house before the Purge waiting to kill me,” Tony’s tone is a good smoke for the tremor underneath. Steve’s gotten to know him pretty well in the last three weeks of their acquaintance. He knows when the other man is bullshitting.

“I’m not—what? Why would you think I want to kill you?” he’s honestly bewildered. Kiss him within an inch of his genius life? Hell yes, kill him, though? Never.

“Well, you _are_ standing in front of my house less than two hours before the purge with a switchblade in your hand, buddy. That doesn’t… that’s not really reassuring,” his voice gets quiet by the end of his sentence as though he actually believes that’s why Steve’s there for.

Which immediately calls Steve’s attention to the fact that, by some trick of faith, he’s standing in front of Tony’s house. He drops the blade as if scalded, and looks wildly at the imperious house in front of him. The windows and doors all look tightly closed, though, so he doesn’t know how Tony figured out he was there.

“Oh, please, like I need the windows to be open to monitor my home,” Tony snorts. So Steve’s bewildered enough to talk without realizing it, nice. He’s got eight hours tops at this rate. “Again, I ask you, why are you standing in front of my house with a switchblade in your hand?”

“I—well, I dropped by the office. I ran into a coworker of mine, name’s Schmidt, and he was asking about some thing we worked on together before. Kept me longer than I should have stayed, and now my bike,” he swallows the bile climbing to his throat and runs a hand through his hair. Oh, God, he’s really going to have to be out during the purge alone.

“Okay,” Tony says. Steve’s about to scream at him for his lack of tact about his situation, but then Stark sighs. “You can—you can come in, I guess. Pass the night here, if you want.”

“Tony, I can’t possibly—“

“No, I—I want you to. I won’t leave you out there alone, Rogers,” even the last name that usually feels like an insult makes Steve feel better. He could cry at the relief he instantly gets. “But,” and there goes Steve’s sudden comfort.

“Yeah?” he says, gripping the phone tightly.

“I need you to promise, no, to swear on whatever you hold most dear, that you won’t damage what’s in here. If I let you in, Steve, you have to swear not to hurt us.”

Steve is so appalled what Tony just said doesn’t really register. How could Tony _ever_ … but Steve remembers, then. Remembers Rumlow two years ago, and he nods. “I swear it, Tony. I would never hurt you.”

“Don’t make me regret this, Steve,” Tony says quietly into the phone. Then, the porch light turns on, and Steve takes that as his cue to approach the house. He picks up his blade, moves his bike into the driveway, and cautiously walks to the door. It swings open a crack, enough for him to slip through, then closes, locks, and a steel reinforced barrier slides from the wall after it. Steve’s eyes widen as he watches the security procedures go, a British voice declares Stark Mansion secure, and Steve turns to look at the rest of the room.

Tony’s standing in a long sleeved black Henley, jeans, and comfortable looking boots in front of him and to the right. There’s an entryway behind him, and the light is turned off in the corridor beyond that. Steve realizes that the only light is a dim lamp in the room they are standing in. Tony’s stance is protective, feet apart and shoulders thrown back, the stance reminds Steve of his service days and he finds himself mimicking it. Tony stares at him critically, from his jacket, to his trainers, to the blade still in his freaking hand.

“You promised,” Tony says and Steve nods and makes a show of closing the blade and putting it his back pocket even though he can see the holster on Tony’s thigh.

They stare at each other for another tense second before the sound of pattering of tiny feet are heard behind Tony. Then, a tiny voice calls out a shy, “Da’ee?” from behind Tony, and Steve’s heart clenches painfully at the sight of the owner of that voice.

Tony’s whole demeanor changes as he turns to scoop the toddler into his arms. He ignores Steve completely as he gives the boy a loving eskimo kiss and grins reassuringly. The boy plants his tiny hands on the man’s cheeks and gives him a noisy kiss. Steve is left to stare at them like an idiot as his brain tries to process the fact that the man he’s been falling for apparently has a child. The man he’s probably in love with has a child and Steve has to find out in the middle of what feels like the fucking apocalypse.

“Steve,” Tony says lowly. The boy is looking curiously at him from where his little head is resting under Tony’s chin, and quickly hides his face when Steve focuses on him. “This is Peter Parker Stark. He’s three years old as off three months ago, and he’s my son. Say hi to my friend Steve, spiderling.”

_You have to swear not to hurt us._

As Peter gives him a mumbled, “Hi, mista’ ‘Teeb,” and a wave with his chubby fingers, Steve understands all too well.


	2. The Best Times, Not Meant to Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the calm before the storm.   
> Or, Steve wonders if this is what it's like to fall in love.

 

Steve stands speechless just beyond the front door for too long, it seems. Tony, to his credit, doesn’t berate him for it. He just cuddles his boy to his chest, and watches as the blond man seems to adjust all his preconceived notions in the span of a few minutes. Steve feels as though he has to say something, but he can’t quite grasp what it is he’d like to tell the other man. It takes him a bit to realize that he’s surprisingly okay with this new revelation about Tony.

It’s not like he actually has a say in the matter; they’re barely friends as it is, but he feels as though he’s been trusted with something incredibly important. In the month or so of their acquaintance, Tony had made no mention of his child. Neither had Pepper nor did Clint make any sort of allusion to the man being a father. Sure, there were times when Tony would fail to show up to the office even if they’d agreed to a lunch meeting the day before. There was also the matter of Tony never inviting Steve up to his office or even his personal lab even though he talked Steve’s ear off about his projects all the time. He’d always chalked it up to his first discovery about the man. That of his fake charming persona to distract the masses of what was really going on.

Now, though, as he watches father and son mumbling to each other, he realizes that Tony’s lingering weariness of him was protecting more than just himself. He’d noticed that the genius was always uncomfortable with praise or just casual affection. He’d try not to lean in when Steve grasped his shoulder, would frown when Pepper kissed him unexpectedly, and hesitated when Clint tried to give him a simple fist bump. They were all clear defense mechanisms, and so Steve hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on Tony’s seeming shyness even as his desperation to know the real Tony had mounted.

It seems monumentally important that his wish is coming true, even if the circumstances aren’t exactly what he had expected. His plan had involved the dimmed lights, sure, but it had included a lot more romancing and a lot less danger. Again, though, Steve’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, and, well…

The little boy, _Peter_ , is certainly one of the cutest things he’s ever seen. A part of him wonders if Tony had somehow made a tiny clone of himself. The boy has a nest of chocolate curls atop his head, chubby olive-toned cheeks, and a big, well, _Bambi eyes_ is the most accurate description. As Steve scrutinizes the boy, both pairs of those eyes focus on him, and if Steve didn’t think he was irrevocably lost before he sure as hell is now.

After Tony had assured himself that Steve wouldn’t try to do anything to harm him or his child he’d asked for the lights to be turned back on. That’s when the blond had realized that when Tony had talked to him about artificial intelligence he was _actually_ sure he could do it. Had _already_ done it, and he had it in his own home. He’d had to take another moment to stand gaping like a fish at the ceiling when JARVIS had spoken. Peter had giggled at him.

Steve looked at where the boy was giggling and whispering something into Tony’s ear. The older man grinned at his son and nodded before looking over at Steve. Despite the utter hell that would probably be unfolding out in their streets in less than an hour, Steve found that Tony looked mighty fine with a baby in his arms. He suddenly understood what Peggy had meant about the attractiveness of men with infants. When the staring went on too long, Steve snapped out of his reverie and shook his head. This time, even Tony let out a little chuckle.

“What?” Steve asked sheepishly while rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel heat climbing up his neck. Peter giggled again.

“Why don’t you tell him, spider-spawn?” Tony bounced his son in his arms to gain his attention.

“Mista’ ‘Teeb look like uh fishy,” then he puffed up his cheeks and opened and closed his mouth slowly. It was one of the cutest things Steve had ever seen, and he managed to forget about his own embarrassment. “Like dis!” his words came out warbled due to his impersonation of a fish.

Steve can’t help the bleat of laughter that escapes him. It seems as though he’s able to find anything that Peter does to be enchanting. “Fair enough,” he says and then grins at a beaming Peter. “But I think fishies go more like this,” and Steve proceeds to make a fool of himself by making an exaggerated fish face. When he catches a glimpse of Peter’s lit up eyes and bright cheeks, he smacks his lips for effect, and is delighted when both of the Stark boys break into fits of hysterics. “How was that?” Steve asks Tony with a grin.

“I don’t know, Rogers, I think Peter would make a cuter fish,” he says and then plants a kiss on the boy’s chubby cheeks.

“Da’ee!” the boy squeals in protest. “Mista’ ‘Teeb can see!” but even though he hides his face in his father’s neck Steve can see him smiling.

“There was a time, Peter Parker Stark, when you weren’t too cool for your old man. I miss those days,” he kisses the boy again despite another mumbled protest. “Now come on, we were about to catch a movie and I think Mister Rogers needs some pointers on how to make a good fishy face.” Peter whispers something at his daddy and then glances shyly at Steve.  “You should ask him, baby. C’mon, use your words.”

“Mista’ ‘Teebe,” Peter says quietly. Steve uses it as an excuse to get closer to them. He schools his face into an attentive expression, which isn’t hard considering he thinks he could spend hours around Peter if given the chance. “Wanna watch duh fishy movie wid da’ee an’ me? We gots poppy-cown, and da’ee says I can’ave _two_ ” he held up an index finger of each hand and Steve saw Tony bite his lip to keep from giggling. “apple juices if I’m good!”

“Whoa, Pete, _two_ apple juices?!” Steve asks and widens his eyes to express his enthusiasm. Peter nods his head frantically. “I’m only allowed _one_ apple juice even if I’m good. Your daddy’s a pretty cool guy, huh?”

“Da’ee’s duh bestest!” Peter says and plants a kiss on a laughing Tony’s mouth.

“All right, all right,” Tony says even as he chuckles and sends a look that’s mildly annoyed but mostly _fond_ Steve’s way. The blond’s heart kicks into overdrive at that and he gives a goofy grin back. “That’s enough of the daddy loving. I think I owe you some pop corn, young man.”

Steve follows Tony as he walks out into the hall from where Peter had appeared. Instead of moving them towards a family room, or even the kitchen to get the promised popcorn, Tony leads them to the staircase. He then moves towards the cupboard under the stairs, and Steve watches in amazement as what appeared to be a painting transforms into a screen, and Tony does a whole set of scans. Then, Tony gives Steve an assessing look and then watches Peter for a few seconds.

“J?” Tony says quietly, his eyes back on Steve. For some reason, Steve feels as though something monumental is about to happen. When the AI answers attentively, Tony cards a shaking hand through his hair and glances at Peter one more time. “Grant full access to Stark Underground as well as the Mark II Cabinet to Steven Grant Rogers. Access code PS0812-IM008”

“Tony, I don’t think—“that’s as far as he gets when he sees Tony’s face. It’s dead set in determination, and Steve feels his chest grow tight. He starts feeling as though there’s something more to Tony’s willingness to let him near Peter than the tight friendship they’d formed. Whether he’s doing it because he wants something _more_ or because of what’s going on outside, Steve doesn’t think he minds. One look at Peter and he’d known that he’d do anything to keep the little boy safe. So when motions for him to approach the screen, he does it with an assured stride. His pupils are scanned, as well as his whole face, and his thumb print. Peter watches this with serious eyes, his own thumb in his mouth, as though he understands exactly how much his father is risking by letting Steve in.

They enter the little cupboard in silence, a Steve has to wait for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. Tony crouches down in the middle of the tiny room, pulls back a rug, and reveals a trap door just big enough for a fully grown man like Steve to fit through. A part of him feels as though this might be a little paranoid in Tony’s part, but then he remembers Rumlow and what he’d learned after an embarrassing session of Google searching the man crouching in front of him and thinks that perhaps it’s not paranoid at all.  

Tony has Peter wait with Steve while he goes down the ladder into the room below, and Steve’s left to deal with the monumental shift that has come in his and Tony’s relationship in the last hour or so. This is aided by Peter’s immediate gravitation towards him once his father is done. The little boy wraps an arm around Steve’s leg while thumb of his other hand remains firmly in his mouth. Steve cards his fingers soothingly through his soft curls while they wait for Tony’s okay.

“Okay, Peter-Pan,” the endearment rolls easily off Steve’s tongue. “Do you know how to climb down?”

Peter looks up at him with those big eyes of his and nods, but then he seems to think better of it and raises his arms to Steve. The blond has to swallow the lump in his throat as he scoops the little boy up into his arms and cradle him protectively against his chest. It’s easy to climb down one handed while keeping the boy safe. Steve doesn’t let himself dwell in how perfectly Peter _fits_ in his arms.

Once they’re both on solid ground, Steve gets a look at the whole basement. It’s like a luxurious apartment down there. There’s a small kitchenette, as well as wing with a big flat screen and a comfortable looking leather couch. Steve doesn’t have much time to look at the décor because he catches Tony looking at him. Peter is still in Steve’s arms, and the little shift he’d felt before feels like a full on earthquake as their eyes meet. It feels as though whatever they decide to do from here on out will define much more than just today.

The choice, as it turns out, is taken out of their hands. He hadn’t even noticed Peter’s squirming until he excitedly said “Da’ee!” and then they were both focusing on the little boy thinking something was wrong. Peter turned around to absolutely beam at Steve. “Mista’ ‘Teebe’s supah stwong! Like duh supah hewo!” there’s a shocked minute of silence before they burst out laughing and the tension seems to leak out of the room.

Steve moves confidently towards the small island in the kitchenette and sits on a stool, Peter firmly in his lap. The little boy goes back to sucking his thumb and leans back against Steve, utterly content. Tony, for his part, goes to work on their popcorn.

Sitting there, Steve feels a sense of… belonging, wash over him. He cuddles Peter a bit closer as Tony rambles about popcorn and movie choices and wonders what he would have to give to stay here, forever. This moment of utter peace and contentment. He feels like the moon, free-falling around the earth, and not minding one bit that the rest of his existence could be to do just that. He thinks that wouldn’t be a bad life. not at all.


End file.
